There's some commotion going on outside of the young man's room. Elisabeth and Taylor hadn't returned, so he was alone all along since the restaurant incident. Although the compartment is sound proof, anyone could feel the vibrations coming from outside. Especially those trained in the arts of the shinobi. Several individuals pass through the corridor. Something seemingly heavy is being carried away. Soon the commotion stops. A few moments later the door is being lock-picked from the outside. It's obviously an expert's handiwork, since the door's lock magically opens after mere seconds. Someone shut off the lights on the corridor.The door opens slightly without a sound. It's really dark. Treading lightly a stealthy ninja comes in with his blade drawn, behind him an other ninja holding a syringe.

There's a large variety of camps and villages in the wild, but they all have one thing in common: no one cares about them and their inhabitants. People live and die there without ever graduating from "nasty things to keep away from" in the eyes of the civilized people of the cities. The only law that governs this place is the law of the strong. Power is the only thing that matters and those who do not have it are just fodder for the rest. Although even here there are many who do not accept it, slavery is flowering. As if afraid of some imaginary law however, captors and traders don't call their "merchandise" slaves openly, just as bandits call themselves "mercenaries".

I was one of the children working in one such "mercenary camp". I cannot remember whether I was brought there or born there, but I know I never had anything that resembled parents or a family. All the work around the camp would be done by captured slaves, children and women unfortunate enough to have been taken by these brutes. While most of the time the bandits would be pillaging, doing nothing or just having "fun" with the workers there were some of them skilled in crafting and one might even daresay engineering. They were the ones making the equipment and seemed to carry a certain measure of respect even among these people.

From a young age I proved myself to be a useless weakling. Frail and clumsy, I was just a waste of resources. Apparently I was not even worthy of a name, although that wasn't so uncommon in that place. One would think that in this kind of life, the oppressed would look after one another. What was happening though was quite the opposite: when one would get kicked down he would just look for someone even lower to kick. And here I found myself at the end of the chain, something to relieve your stress on. Being beaten, insulted or sometimes tortured wasn't something that qualified as "bad" for me, it was just my normal everyday life. I had gotten used to it, I wouldn't try to change it, I had even reached a point where I could say I was content, not knowing any better.

As years passed and I began to grow I began to notice that I was able to do things others were not. At first, I could move things just by willing it, then I managed to put the people beating me to sleep. Nobody cared enough to notice it, but I knew I had something none of them had, in my own way, I was superior to them. I was no longer the weakest. Having lived the way I did all my life however, I did not know what to do of my gift, so I just kept living like that.

One day a group of mages passed near the camp. One of was somehow able to sense me when I used magic to help with my work. The group came to the camp, and for all their displeasure, the bandits knew better than to attack them. They told me I had great potential, that I could go to a school where apprentice mages learn spells and train their gifts. They asked me to come with them to such a place. That was the first time anyone had ever praised me for anything. That was the first moment in my life when I can say I truly felt happy. That is why I refused them, for just as happy as I was right now I was afraid of the thought of not being special anymore. If I went to a place where everybody was like this then everything would go back to the way I used to be. That was the one thing I couldn't stand.My happiness was short lived though. As soon as the group left, the magic hating bandits started making my life even worse. If you're wondering how exactly would that be possible here's the answer: up until now all the beatings I had taken were just the way of that place following it's natural course. Since I became the "mage" of our little group however, stones, punches, insults, kicks started to actively seek their way towards me.

One night, during the usual beating, one of the engineers had the idea to use me to calibrate his new tool. It was a machine that gave electric shocks, probably meant for interrogation. Without any delay he zapped me with the thing which threw me several steps away. Suddenly, I couldn't hear the laughters anymore, I couldn't feel any pain at all, for the first time I could say with certainty: I was dying. I could see the bastard coming towards to zap me again. I knew I couldn't have taken that again, I was dying. I was dying! Before I realized it, it was already done. Blood and lumps of flesh were floating in the air and I was holding his heart, still struggling to beat. I could feel the life rapidly draining from it as if it was seeping through my fingers, I could see it's potential and it's strength fading into nothingness as if they had never been there. At that moment I grabbed the disappearing life and pulled it towards me taking all it was and all it could have been into myself. It wasn't really as if I had fused with it, it was more like a piece that worked as an extension of myself. My senses cleared, my muscles tensed, I could see everything around me with different eyes, better eyes. I saw the frozen faces of those around me, I saw horror painted on them, I saw fear. And I saw myself: I was strong! The next moment one thought consumed me: More! More! MORE!

They say none escaped that slaughter, although like most stories it's just an exaggeration. Someone obviously lived and told the tale. In the end, I never learned a single spell, I could not find any place to settle. My powers have no shape and I have no purpose. I go from place to place, sometimes stay for a while, act purely on whim. Because I often change my shape and my purposeless actions don't really make any sense to most people, all manner of stories, most of them not true, have started to accumulate around me. Apparently I am a hero, I am a monster, I even have a name now, well sort of: The whimsical demon

Character Name none

Stats :

STR D; END B; PER A; DEX D; AGI A; WP S; MA A; TA D;

Maximum Hit Points :

6

Special : ShapelessCan change the shape of his body at will. If he turns into another person he does not copy their stats or skills.

There's a large variety of camps and villages in the wild, but they all have one thing in common: no one cares about them and their inhabitants. People live and die there without ever graduating from "nasty things to keep away from"Â in the eyes of the civilized people of the cities. The only law that governs this place is the law of the strong. Power is the only thing that matters and those who do not have it are just fodder for the rest. Although even here there are many who do not accept it, slavery is flowering. As if afraid of some imaginary law however, captors and traders don't call their "merchandise" slaves openly, just as bandits call themselves "mercenaries".

I was one of the children working in one such "mercenary camp". I cannot remember whether I was brought there or born there, but I know I never had anything that resembled parents or a family. All the work around the camp would be done by captured slaves, children and women unfortunate enough to have been taken by these brutes. While most of the time the bandits would be pillaging, doing nothing or just having "fun" with the workers there were some of them skilled in crafting and one might even daresay engineering. They were the ones making the equipment and seemed to carry a certain measure of respect even among these people.

From a young age I proved myself to be a useless weakling. Frail and clumsy, I was just a waste of resources. Apparently I was not even worthy of a name, although that wasn't so uncommon in that place. One would think that in this kind of life, the oppressed would look after one another. What was happening though was quite the opposite: when one would get kicked down he would just look for someone even lower to kick. And here I found myself at the end of the chain, something to relieve your stress on. Being beaten, insulted or sometimes tortured wasn't something that qualified as "bad" for me, it was just my normal everyday life. I had gotten used to it, I wouldn't try to change it, I had even reached a point where I could say I was content, not knowing any better.

As years passed and I began to grow I began to notice that I was able to do things others were not. At first, I could move things just by willing it, then I managed to put the people beating me to sleep. Nobody cared enough to notice it, but I knew I had something none of them had, in my own way, I was superior to them. I was no longer the weakest. Having lived the way I did all my life however, I did not know what to do of my gift, so I just kept living like that.

One day a group of mages passed near the camp. One of was somehow able to sense me when I used magic to help with my work. The group came to the camp, and for all their displeasure, the bandits knew better than to attack them. They told me I had great potential, that I could go to a school where apprentice mages learn spells and train their gifts. They asked me to come with them to such a place. That was the first time anyone had ever praised me for anything. That was the first moment in my life when I can say I truly felt happy. That is why I refused them, for just as happy as I was right now I was afraid of the thought of not being special anymore. If I went to a place where everybody was like this then everything would go back to the way I used to be. That was the one thing I couldn't stand.My happiness was short lived though. As soon as the group left, the magic hating bandits started making my life even worse. If you're wondering how exactly would that be possible here's the answer: up until now all the beatings I had taken were just the way of that place following it's natural course. Since I became the "mage" of our little group however, stones, punches, insults, kicks started to actively seek their way towards me.

One night, during the usual beating, one of the engineers had the idea to use me to calibrate his new tool. It was a machine that gave electric shocks, probably meant for interrogation. Without any delay he zapped me with the thing which threw me several steps away. Suddenly, I couldn't hear the laughters anymore, I couldn't feel any pain at all, for the first time I could say with certainty: I was dying. I could see the bastard coming towards to zap me again. I knew I couldn't have taken that again, I was dying. I was dying! Before I realized it, it was already done. Blood and lumps of flesh were floating in the air and I was holding his heart, still struggling to beat. I could feel the life rapidly draining from it as if it was seeping through my fingers, I could see it's potential and it's strength fading into nothingness as if they had never been there. At that moment I grabbed the disappearing life and pulled it towards me taking all it was and all it could have been into myself. It wasn't really as if I had fused with it, it was more like a piece that worked as an extension of myself. My senses cleared, my muscles tensed, I could see everything around me with different eyes, better eyes. I saw the frozen faces of those around me, I saw horror painted on them, I saw fear. And I saw myself: I was strong! The next moment one thought consumed me: More! More! MORE!

They say none escaped that slaughter, although like most stories it's just an exaggeration. Someone obviously lived and told the tale. In the end, I never learned a single spell, I could not find any place to settle. My powers have no shape and I have no purpose. I go from place to place, sometimes stay for a while, act purely on whim. Because I often change my shape and my purposeless actions don't really make any sense to most people, all manner of stories, most of them not true, have started to accumulate around me. Apparently I am a hero, I am a monster, I even have a name now, well sort of: The whimsical demonCharacter Name noneStats :

8Special : ShapelessHas an additional 3 points he can assign to his STR, PER, DEX and AGI stats with a maximum of 2 points in a single stat. By sacrificing 1 point he is able to change his shape, be that a partial change ( turning his hands into swords, growing wings, becoming a centaur, etc.) or a full body change (completely turning into someone or something else). Changing into someone else does not grant him their stats or anything besides their appearance. He may sacrifice 2 points in order to turn into someone else and also copy their stats, including lower ones. This type of transformation also copies their fighting style and any techniques or martial arts they may be using, but in doesn't copy the bonuses of their items and it can NOT copy their special techniques. A maximum of one point can be used to reshape wounds, practically regenerating his health (1 hit point). During combat these points may be redistributed only at the beginning of a new round.Tactics :

Ti-am zis ca am tendinta sa trec pe godmode. Well, the whole purpose of this character is to be someone without a defined shape, personality and yes, stats too. Chopping off some of his traits would pretty much go against the story so let me propose a compromise. He starts off with only 12 points and can reassign the rest of his points to his stats (except endurance since that controls maximum hitpoints, therefore the regeneration part). We'll also lose the stat copying type of transformation (ma gandeam sa pun conditia to only be able to copy someone dead and whose life/soul he'd absorbed, but I managed to hold myself back).

Bottom line: He can only have 15 stat points at most at a time( the normal value), he may change appearance(only) and regenerate 1 hit point at the cost of stat points(effectively making him weaker).

Ti-am zis ca am tendinta sa trec pe godmode. Well, the whole purpose of this character is to be someone without a defined shape, personality and yes, stats too. Chopping off some of his traits would pretty much go against the story so let me propose a compromise. He starts off with only 12 points and can reassign the rest of his points to his stats (except endurance since that controls maximum hitpoints, therefore the regeneration part). We'll also lose the stat copying type of transformation (ma gandeam sa pun conditia to only be able to copy someone dead and whose life/soul he'd absorbed, but I managed to hold myself back).

Bottom line: He can only have 15 stat points at most at a time( the normal value), he may change appearance(only) and regenerate 1 hit point at the cost of stat points(effectively making him weaker).

Uhm let me think... No. Ai 15 puncte la inceput, le folosesti.

"Chopping off some of his traits would pretty much go against the story so let me propose a compromise."

But good sir, your entire character is against the story. It lacks a name, it lacks a shape. It even lacks a purpose.

You can only have a single A+ stat, single B+ stat, single C+ stat and single D+ stat.

Also, state your business on the train, give the other players a description of how you temporarily look, tell me in which part of the train you are and what are you doing. Sincerelly... it seems none of the characters had a reasonable childhood.

ohbtw. Also, I am guessing since you kept shapeshifting, you forgo regeneration.